


To The Point Of Invention

by Tomatosoupful



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Healing, Post Movie, Valentine's Day, soft romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomatosoupful/pseuds/Tomatosoupful
Summary: Their first Valentine's Day after reuniting. Quiet, a bit awkward and definitely no gifts. Well, no gifts for her, Imelda had requested.One flower petal for every year.
Relationships: Héctor Rivera & Imelda Rivera, Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78





	To The Point Of Invention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BabyCharmander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyCharmander/gifts).



> My gift to BabyCharmander for the CocoLoco Valentine's Gift Exchange. Hope you like it <3 and happy valentine's day from one ace to another.

“There was once a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife’s hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so, he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love.

When I met Ana I knew: I loved to the point of invention.”

Sarah Ruhl, _The Clean House_

~o0o~

The flower petal was still in his hand.

After Miguel was sent home just in time, Héctor kept a hold of the petal – his final connection to the wonderful great-great-grandson he had met that night. Imelda had then clasped that very hand, the petal secured between them. There it stayed until the tension had passed, Héctor’s survival no longer on the brink. Imelda hadn’t thought of the petal afterwards. She was caught up in the chaos of wrestling the media away from her family and returning everyone home with help from Pepita. Now, however, as she followed Héctor down numerous rickety stairs towards his former home in Shantytown, she wondered why he still had it.

She supposed it was for comfort. Her husband had always given significance to things no matter how great or small – his guitar, the songbook, the old grungy hat; anything could become priceless if he deemed it so. Even a small rock Coco had found and played with as a toddler. Imelda herself appreciated the harder work that made something significant. A pair of shoes was worth celebrating for the hours of effort and skill that gave it its quality. It was no surprise she regularly turned her nose up at cheaply made mass produced material. To her, lifeless copied products were worth much less than the chipped rotting wood panels she was currently traversing on, as Héctor led her deeper into the dark depths of the Land of the Dead. At least these old stairs and bridges were made by the efforts of the Forgotten.

The biggest shame however, Imelda decided as she entered Shantytown, was how they desperately needed to build such necessities in the first place, with only the poorest of quality materials. Imelda felt a sting of sympathy at the state of the sheds, and garbage given new purpose as tables, or chairs or hooks to hang torn clothes. Imelda stared at one woman in particular, pulling thread from her ruined shawl to tie together a hole in a sock.

“Imelda?”

Héctor stood before a shed, awkwardly fiddling with his red scarf with one hand. The other still carrying the petal. Imelda hitched up her dress as she hurried over to him. Then, she followed him inside to take in the miserable state he had been living in all these decades. Words were exchanged, a slow tentative hug was shared, and a promise to make it up to each other helped to mend the heartbreak. Later, the two were gathering the belongings Héctor wished to bring with him.

“Found it,” Héctor announced brightly, pulling out a long tin can from a pile of rubbish.

Imelda frowned. “What is it?”

There was a metallic _pop_ as Héctor took off the lid. Imelda could see an orange glow from inside. She only realised what it was when Héctor gently placed Miguel’s blessed petal in. Drawing closer, with Héctor moving the tin between them, Imelda inspected the dozens and dozens and _dozens_ of petals. “What is all this? What’s it for?”

Héctor huffed out a chuckle. “Not really for anything. I liked collecting them.” At Imelda’s raised eyebrow bone, he continued, “Every year I wanted to see you and Coco but …” it didn’t need to be said. “… so, I took a petal instead. It’s not much, but it meant a lot to me. It was the closest I could get to you.”

A painful feeling hit Imelda in the ribcage. She fought hard to maintain a calm composure and level her breathing as she listened to Héctor tell her all these stories of how he collected a petal every year he tried to come home. The first time, he had found it in his pocket after trying to scramble across. Another year, he snuck a petal hanging off a guard when he had failed to even touch the bridge. “But this one. Miguel’s,” Héctor said, with a soft smile. “It’s the closest I’ve ever been to my family. It’s extra special.”

Imelda tenderly grazed the tin’s lid. “Best we bring it home then. I’m sure Coco would love to see it.”

~o0o~

Valentine’s Day was a week away and Rosita made sure Imelda could never forget it for even a moment. Whenever they made tea or gardened or organised the shop’s books together, Rosita would chatter excitedly about the date she had planned or the gifts she couldn’t decide on (so why not both, she eventually concluded) or how many of the heart-shaped biscuits she was preparing to bake.

It never took long for Rosita to broach the top of Héctor. “Any plans with …?”

Imelda would wave her hand as though she was shooing a fly. “None of your concern dear. Now, help me dig up these weeds.”

Truthfully, Imelda had thought heavily over Héctor and Valentine’s Day, more than she cared to admit. It had only been a few months since the crazy night that was Día de los Muertos. Héctor had settled into the family home better than expected. He had always socialised with everyone better than she had. At night, he would sometimes whisper to her his worries that he had overstepped his boundaries, was getting too comfortable, had Oscar glared at him before? and Imelda would confidently tell him that he was doing perfectly fine. Imelda was sure there was more to it, deep down, and vowed everything between them would be addressed eventually but for now, it was one step at a time. Valentine’s Day was simply another step … Imelda just had no clue how small or large of a jump she needed to make.

That afternoon, Héctor returned from a walk to the market with Julio, and Imelda signalled him to follow her into their bedroom. Héctor closed the door, nervousness straining his previously upbeat expression. “Is – uh – there a problem? Whatever it is, I can fix it.”

Imelda shook her head. “No, no. It’s fine, Héctor. You’re fine. I …” she roughly brushed hair out of her eyes and gathered up her courage. This needed to be said. Héctor had continuously been brave for all these months. Now, it was her turn. “This Sunday … it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Sí. Rosita told me.”

_Of course, she did_. “…Good,” Imelda said stiffly, nervousness clawing at her throat. She summed up that much-needed courage again. “If you’d …like to do anything, we can. _Not_ too big. No fancy dinners or seeing a talking picture. And no gifts for me. I have no need for such a thing,” Imelda cut herself off, concerned she had made her speech too negative rather than the positivity she was aiming for. Goodness, where was that happy young woman she once was? Imelda tried again, “What I’m trying to say is, we can do something together but perhaps we should start off small.”

“That’s – that’s fine. It’s good!” Héctor hurriedly answered, his voice already alight like he was hit with inspiration. “I’m good to do anything so long as it’s with you.”

Both realised Héctor’s words were quite the unexpectedly romantic thing to say. Imelda was grateful she no longer had skin to blush terribly like she used to, while Héctor awkwardly chuckled and stumbled back. “I-I mean –oof!” he bumped against their chest of drawers.

Knocking off a familiar tin. As soon as it hit the floor, the lid popped off and orange petals scattered everywhere like confetti. Valentine’s Day plans were forgotten as Héctor and Imelda rushed to the floor to gather up the important petals. Imelda made sure to check under the bed and behind any dark corner; she wasn’t going to have any of Héctor’s special petals lost on her watch.

Héctor held the tin as Imelda added the last handful.

“I should find a better place for them,” Héctor joked, though Imelda spotted ache in his eyes.

She stroked the petals and an idea hit her.

“Are you sure you don’t want a gift?” Héctor asked, placing the tin back in its place. “I’m sure I could find something you like.”

Imelda allowed a small smile. “I know you can. I just –” _shouldn’t ask anything more from you_ “– don’t need anything.”

“Okay…” 

As soon as Imelda had time to herself, she got started on her idea. She didn’t need anything from Héctor, but he at least deserved something.

~o0o~

“It’s so quiet,” Héctor remarked at the kitchen and dining room’s emptiness.

The rest of the family had left half an hour ago, leaving the Rivera matriarch and patriarch behind to have breakfast on their own. Héctor took a sip of his coffee and admired the garden outside the window.

Imelda sat down beside him on the couch. In her arms was a neatly decorated box. “Everyone’s out celebrating – well, I don’t know what the twins are doing but whatever it is, it’s not here.”

“Should we be worried?”

Imelda dismissed it. “I choose to trust my brothers. If they mess up this chance, shame on them.”

Héctor snorted. “I’m sure they appreciate it.”

He poked curiously at the ribbon on the box in Imelda’s arms, the question on the tip of his metaphorical tongue. Imelda considered waiting for him to say it but thinking over the careful and cautious interactions they’ve shared over the past few months, she decided against it. Helpfully, she assured him, “This is for you.”

She nudged the present into Héctor’s hands. He frowned lightly. “I thought you said no gifts?”

“No gifts _for me_ ,” Imelda clarified. With a tiny smirk, one she used to wear a lot as a young woman, she added, “I never said I wasn’t getting you anything.”

“Thank you,” Héctor answered; the mixture of disbelief and amazement made Imelda’s heart ache. She could only hope her efforts behind the gift could mend even the smallest of cuts.

As Héctor opened his present, Imelda distracted herself by dusting off her apron. It was only washed last night but Imelda swore it needed another pat down just to be sure. Whatever excuse she could grab so she didn’t have to see disappointment on Héctor’s face. For too long, since she was a freshly abandoned single mother to that crazy night, she had silently worried over how much she must have disappointed her husband for him to leave. But that was behind her. Truly. Héctor wasn’t at all like she had imagined.

“ _Imelda_ …”

Anxiety rippled through her like a chill. She turned back to Héctor, a part of her ready to get up and escape to the workshop. Instead, her tense shoulders lowered, and her hands unclenched as she took in Héctor’s utter delight. The gift had taken many hours. Imelda had cut off nine twigs from the garden. Then, she had pulled out her sewing kit and got to work on Héctor’s petals. They were magical and indestructible. Her needle and thread easily snaked through the petals, tying them together, without tearing them apart.

There was a bunch of them. Ten petals sewn together to make one simple flower, which she tied to a twig to complete the look. Nine decades Héctor tried to cross the bridge. Nine flowers.

“They’re _beautiful_.”

Imelda was taken aback by how happy it made her feel knowing Héctor loved her gift. She was almost frozen in shock. The Imelda from a year ago would _never_ have believed she would ever feel that kind of happiness with her husband again. This was …this was nice. “It was my pleasure,” she answered proudly. “Now we can make sure they’re kept safe. I’ll get a vase and –”

“– Let me buy one!” Héctor exclaimed brightly.

Imelda paused. “Buy one?”

“Sí! I know you said no gifts, but… this will be for the flowers, for _us_. Please Imelda? Let’s go together.”

Together.

Imelda agreed. In a few hours, a vase built by hard work and effort, _just_ the way Imelda liked it, would be brought home and positioned on Héctor’s beside table.

Then the flowers made from over ninety years’ worth of petals, significant because Héctor made them so and crafted into something more by Imelda, would take their place.


End file.
